319Chapter Two: Useless Cargo
When the sky began to lighten, Roland and I decided to look for our ship, and under cover of darkness and shreds of remaining fog, we snuck onto the S.S. Amelia.
The ship was uninhabited and the sails were pulled up, the deck swabbed and fairly clean. We wasted no time trying to explore the ship despite my urge to run around and wonder at it. Roland's authority as midshipman made me reluctantly obey him. We headed down below decks, and then down again to the hold of the ship.
As soon as my boot made a thud on the brittle wooden steps, I heard a few tiny feet scurry and a few mouths squeak.
"Rats," said Roland.
I stared blankly at him.
"They like ships. They like shoes, too, and hats."
My arms instantly covered my head. No bloody rat would make his home in my hat. He laughed and I scowled behind his back. The boy loved to make fun.
"I'll pick one up and drop it in that cylinder hat of yours, brother," I warned. He ignored me as usual and walked carefully amongst the crates, barrels and other trunks holding goods as he searched for a proper hiding place. I followed after him, not quite joining in on the search for a place to hide, but more on searching for any rats that might cross my path.
I bumped into a pile of boxes, and one fell raucously onto the wooden floor and broke into a mess of splinters.
"Shh!" whirred Roland, spinning his head angrily in my direction. "Do you want us to get caught?"
"No," I snorted, crossing my arms and leaving the accident where it lay. My eyes still did not leave the floor. They scanned fervently for any sign of a damn rat.
"Will you stop fretting over rodents and help me find a good hiding place?" he growled in return. Unwillingly, I stopped glaring at the floor and steered off in a different direction, poking my head in small, dark areas where Roland and I could be safe from being deported back to Port Royal if caught.
The cargo area was stuffed with wooden boxes branded with the names of their destinations. The majority had the black marks of 'Nevis,' 'Anguilla,' and 'St. Vincent,' painted onto their sides, and at the mentioning of St. Vincent, I asked Roland where St. Vincent or what St. Vincent was.
"It's a small British settlement further east," he said. "I failed to ask Adam if there would be a King's ship there, but the least we can do is hope. And if there is not one, then we can just get another passage on a different ship until we reach a port that has one."
At this rate, I thought, I will not see Jack until I am fifty years old.
After some more idle searching, I happened upon a shadowed nook behind a wall of crates. I called for Roland.
"I'll be there in a moment!" he said, trampling over barrels and boxes to get to me quicker. He had to lean his head to the side to avoid hitting his head on the wooden ceiling, and he seemed in great discomfort. "What have you found?" he said unexcitedly, creeping up behind me. "The origin of the rats?" I bit my lip and peered threateningly at him, ready to haul him up to the deck and shove him overboard to be rid of him and his pathetic jokes.
"No," I said, slapping his head. "A possible hiding spot." He shifted his eyes in my direction, looking inquisitively from me to the shadowed area. After some thought in that head of his, he crawled into the spot and gave it a good inspection.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"There are no rats," he replied, and that drove me away from where I stood and into the tiny space behind the crate-wall. "It's quite dark, especially with this barrier of crates blocking the light from the lanterns down here." I knelt to the floor and ran my hand over the surface to make sure it was clean. When I brought my hand back to my face, it was covered with filth. "I don't think they'll see us."
"No," I said, wiping my grime-covered hand on my trousers. "But I'm sure as soon as we get out we'll be dirtier than the pirates themselves."
"I shouldn't wear my uniform then," said Roland. "Don't want to get it dirty." I laughed and he grew aggravated with my mockery. "It's true. As soon as we do find a British ship to sign on as sailors, I want to have my mid uniform clean."
"Maybe the lads on the Paramount were right, Roland," I snickered. "Maybe you are a fairy." It was only a light-hearted joke meant only to be shrugged off. He had been teasing me about rats since we came down and it was only fair to return the humiliation. He took on a defensive stance and pinched my face very hard.
"Say that again and I'm leaving you on your own on this ship." He whacked my head with his hat, knocking my own hat off and dropping it right onto a dead rat sitting on the floor.
After a few hours of waiting and mildly bickering, we began to hear footsteps and voices above us. With a jolt, the ship was finally off, and I was introduced to the unsteady fluctuation of a ship on the sea. My head began to hurt from the constant swaying of back and forth. I tried to sleep and close my eyes, but I felt sick. Horribly sick. My belly seemed inflated with food I had not eaten and it was trying very hard to come out of my mouth. Only, I didn't want to make a noise. I wasn't sure what was stronger: my body's involuntary desire to vomit, or my mind's determination to keep the plan going smoothly. Ultimately, my body won over my mind, and I had to creep stealthily away from the hiding spot and to the other side of the floor to finally spew my stomach's filling. The boat was still swaying like a pendulum and I was seasick again before I returned to the hiding spot. Roland seemed unaffected with the instability of the moving sea, and sat comfortably in our hiding place, whistling a sea chanty to himself to cover the sounds of my retching from ever reaching his ears.
With a pallid face and throbbing head, I trudged back over to the spot and plunked myself beside Roland very wearily. I was in no mood for conversation, but brother dear chose to indulge me with his knowledge of seamanship.
"First time I was on a ship," he began, "seasickness was gone in a couple of hours. Then again, you're not me. Maybe your body can't tolerate the inconsistency of the sea as well as others can."
I didn't say anything.
"By the way," he said, looking at his hat and not at me. "I heard the sailors talking. We'll be in St. Vincent in about two to three days, they said." I moaned and banged the back of my head against the wall we sat against.
"Splendid," I groaned. "I will be dead from seasickness before we reach St. Vincent. How nice."
"Oh, stop being so pessimistic," said Roland, taking a chunk of bread from his sea bag and stuffing it in his mouth. "You'll get through. I promise." He smiled encouragingly, but I only managed a weak smirk. How I wanted to be back on land, but that would be hypocritical of me. I longed to be on the sea, and I was there, suffering under seasickness. The least I could have done was make the best of a rather unfortunate event.
"Roland," I said.
"Yes?" he replied, speaking while he chewed his food.
"I think I'll find a rat and name it after you."
After three more days, or at least three according to the words of the sailors whom we eavesdropped on, the word was spread that the ship would be docking in St. Vincent in less than an hour or so.
Within a matter of minutes, the usually slow and lazy steps of the sailors were hastened at the mentioning of land, and to our misfortune, a great number of those pounding feet were finding their way down to the cargo area.
By the time we began to hear voices and catch glimpses of the sailors coming down below, Roland and I were prepared to leap out and escape at any moment. Our sea bags were slung over our shoulders, hats were on our heads, boots on and cleaned, and swords at home in our scabbards.
"Drop that down, ya idiot!" said one sailor. "Cap'n said t' get the boxes marked 'St. Vincent' first. So drop dem barrels and get to haulin' the useless cargo up to the main deck!" With a mutter, the other sailor dropped his barrel tersely on the floor and stomped off to complete his orders correctly. Roland and I must have been cursed with hard luck, for out of all places to look for boxes, the idiot sailor chose to come dangerously close to our hiding spot.
"Damn weasel," scowled the sailor as he disputed in his head which box to lift first from the wall of crates that concealed Roland and me. "Since when wa' he made my boss?" he muttered, choosing to lift one from the top that did not reveal our hiding spot. When he turned to leave, Roland and I breathed a little easier.
"We have to get out soon," said Roland, inching to his feet. "Soon all these crates'll be gone and we'll be caught. Hurry, Astrid. C'mon." He helped pull me up to my feet, only to push me down again when a sailor barged down the steps barking insult after insult.
"Now, he says I can take the damn barrels. The bastard. I'll get 'im one day. By God, I'll get 'im." His voice was very dull and nasally, but his ardor to do his sailor companion in was making me question whether or not the man had a criminally insane history.
The poor sailor did not even carry one barrel up the steps when his master changed the order.
"Drop that load and get up on deck. Captain's givin' us a short break to stretch our legs on lan' and you're here pickin' up barrels. What a clot!" Again, I heard the very boisterous slam of a barrel on the ground and heavy, angry steps trample the stairs.
"Now, Roland?" I asked, about to pounce up and run off the ship.
"No. Give them a few minutes. I bet most will go out to land, but you can never be too sure. Keep quiet."
"Aye, sir," I replied, trying my best to imitate a salute, but my attempt only made Roland laugh.
"Dear God, I don't know what you'd do if I did not go with you, sister."
Dear God, neither would I.
We waited for a few more minutes before Roland finally decided it was safe to emerge from the dim of the levels below and get ourselves under the sun on deck.
As soon as we popped our heads from below, we caught a glimpse of a man at the wheel of the ship. Immediately, we dipped our heads back down to avoid being seen.
"What do we do?" I asked, taking a small peep again to see if the man was still there. He was. I could still see his feet.
"I'll sneak out quietly, and well, since I've dressed back into my middy uniform, the man may listen to me. I'll pretend I've come with orders from some royal cove and while I'm speaking with him, you get out and make a run for the first British ship you see. I'll follow."
I nodded. "Go on. Leave your sea bag with me." He transferred his sack to my right shoulder and very silently, snuck out to the deck. I waited a while before popping out.
"Excuse me, sir," said Roland. "I come with orders from my captain. He's just asking if you have unloaded this cargo from Port Royal yet."
"No, sir," said the man. "Captain's out in the town. Won't be back for probably another hour." I heard Roland pause and then suddenly cough very loudly, "Go."
"Are you all right, sir?" asked the sailor. Roland continued to hack, wheeze and choke, creating a distracting cacophony. Hoping the sailor's eyes would not be too keen as to notice all that moved, I slipped out onto deck and crept for the gang plank like a roach.
Still walking down the wooden board, I heard Roland's coughs cease, and he thanked the sailor briefly before excusing himself.
Well done, Turner.
He met me at the dock the ship was tied up in with a smile on his face. Wiping his brow with the sleeve of his fine midshipman's uniform, he spoke at last.
"Let's find ourselves a ship of Britannia, sister." And off we went, so pleased with our achievements that we whistled a sea tune.